


Useful things, riding crops

by womanroaring



Category: Hellion - Lisa Henry
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bondage, Consensual Kink, Light BDSM, M/M, Porn Without Plot, Possessive Behavior, Regency Era, Riding Crops, cravats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:09:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29775291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/womanroaring/pseuds/womanroaring
Summary: I've never posted anything like this and oh dear, I appear to be a fandom of ONE here but I don’t even care because the original novella is so good - it’s a porn-with-plot thing set in 1817 featuring spanking that you can buy for like $1 on kindle, about the cranky 35yo Sir Oliver and his troublesome 19yo ward, Simon, who just wants to breed dogs and not be a gentleman.But honestly, you probably don't need to have read it to read this since it's mostly just porn. Everything's consensual, just please be aware of the tags.
Relationships: Oliver Fitzwilliam/Simon Cavandish





	Useful things, riding crops

They had gone riding that morning. Simon had wanted Oliver to see a particular section of path on the property that he insisted needing moving, because it was so inconvenient that nobody from the village used it. They were all cutting across a field closer to the road instead, disturbing the crop there. Oliver couldn’t have cared less about any of it, and was much more interested in testing out the theory that nobody ever came past so that they had at least not wasted the trip out. 

Simon down on his knees in the sunlight was a thing to behold. 

Everything was so much more agreeable now that they had come to an understanding.

Oliver rode back feeling much more charitable about the world in general, and happy to approve Simon’s request. 

“Well, I think I finally know how to get you to stop arguing against repairs and overhauls,” Simon said as they got back to the stables and started dismounting.

“Cheek,” Oliver replied, flicking his riding crop across the younger man’s ass.

Simon froze. 

And then he looked over his shoulder at Oliver. There was something coy about it, and Oliver realised Simon was waiting to see if another strike was coming. 

Despite how recently the boy had inspired and then relieved a cockstand, Oliver suddenly felt another one on its way. 

The stables’ groom was nowhere to be seen, and Oliver spent a moment considering whether he should just shove the boy’s buckskins down right there, and see how red the crop would make his delectable ass, but decided that he would much rather do this somewhere where oil was handy. So instead of hitting him again, he stepped closer, and ran the crop up slowly from the inside of Simon’s knee to as high as it could go. The boy shivered.

“Inside,” he growled into his ear.

They hadn’t done anything like this since the historic spanking in these very same stables, months ago now. Oliver was domineering and sometimes rough with Simon, certainly, because that was what they both liked, but something intentional like this -- they simply hadn’t gotten around to it. 

He was so hard when they got to his bedchamber, it was a relief to get his breeches off. Simon stripped more quickly. Oliver, still in his shirt, felt a satisfied, greedy, wolfish smile starting to spread across his face as he took in his long limbs and hard, expectant prick. Simon’s expression was conspiratorial and bold, until Oliver snatched up his discarded cravat and tied it around one of his wrists.

“What are you -” he said, but didn’t bother finishing the question, as it became apparent very quickly what Oliver was doing, when he looped the linen around the carved wooden bedpost and then tied it around his other wrist. 

“Sir!” Simon said, looking shocked, and Oliver felt another surge of blood go to his cock at the honorific. It wasn’t the first time it had slipped out of the boy’s lips in the bedroom and it made something in Oliver burn every time. He pushed Simon facedown onto the bed, one knee either side of his thighs as he pulled off the last of his own clothing. 

The crop was within reach, but he took a moment to hover over the boy with his own body, feeling him squirm.

“Oliver -” Simon said, trying to bring his head up to look around at him, and Oliver pushed his head back down.

“You will speak when you are told to,” he said, gripping his hair tightly. Simon nodded, and Oliver let go, and then ran his hands possessively down both sides of his torso, making sure to swipe past both of his hard little nipples on the way. 

“Mine,” Oliver said, his voice low, relishing the way Simon wriggled under him. “This is all mine to do with as I please. Say, “yes, sir.”

“Yes, sir,” Simon said breathily, squirming again as Oliver’s hands reached his hips. 

Oliver yanked at them so that they came up, Simon understanding to move his legs under them so he was in a better position for what Oliver had in mind.

“That’s it,” he said. “Up in the air like one of the bitches when they’re in heat. Whose is this?” he added, shamelessly grabbing the boy’s ass with both hands, his fingers digging in as he spread it open a little.

Simon just made an incoherent gasping, moaning sort of noise in response, which Oliver decided simply wouldn’t do. He quickly licked one of his thumbs and rubbed it against the boy’s hole, making his whole body twitch.

“Who gets to go in here, Simon?” He said, louder, pushing in a little.

“You do, sir, you -- only you,” he managed, really writhing now, and Oliver let go and stood up.

“Good boy. Now, I believe you were promised a cropping.”

And he snatched the thing up, and brought it down across Simon’s beautiful ass. 

He made such a delicious noise that Oliver wondered for a moment if he’d come, but no -- he could see Simon’s lovely prick still standing hard as a post between his legs, the head glistening like a ripe slice of fruit just waiting to be eaten.

Oliver brought the crop down again. Simon made the noise again. God, Oliver was going to give him such a fucking.

“Wonderful things, crops,” he said conversationally. “I think I might keep this in here. Never know when one’s ward needs reminding of who’s in charge.”

He brought it down over Simon’s ass again, and this time he made a sobbing sort of noise that also managed to sound ecstatic. Oliver soothed the spot he’d hit with his hand, let it run down to his balls, which were pulled up tight. The boy was close. “Shh, there now. Just one more, I think, because I am going to want to fuck this red little backside of yours, so I don’t want it too sore. How does one more sound, Simon?”

Simon just let out another of his incoherent moans, and so Oliver reached around and took a hard hold of his cock. “Say, “Yes please, sir”.”

“Yessss -,” Simon said, but then couldn’t say anything else, because Oliver had both brought the crop down one last time and also given his cock a few firm pumps and now the young man was spending with a great moan that Oliver would have worried about the servants hearing all the way downstairs, if his brain had been capable of it, at present.

He tossed the crop aside and oiled up his hands. He stroked them over the red lines he’d left. He hadn’t really hit Simon that hard; the first few marks were fading already. He quickly moved his hands to spread the boy’s cheeks open and he shuddered under him. 

“Oh, come now, Simon,” he chided, pushing into his hole with one finger. “I made you feel so good and now you’re shivering under me like a maiden? You should show more gratitude. What do you have to say?”

“You’re such a bastard,” Simon said in a gratified sort of way, apparently having decided that the respectful-speaking part of the game was over now that the crop was gone, and shifting languidly a little to angle his hips up again (his body had collapsed slightly in his climax). Oliver added another finger and made sure to run it over the nub up there that Simon responded to so much. 

“Christ,” he moaned. “You could give a fellow a minute.” 

“No,” Oliver said, since Simon didn’t sound like he needed a minute at all, and then he oiled his prick up and pushed in. 

God, it was good. His squirming, complaining hellion, over-stimulated and whimpering, hot and tight, all his for the taking. Oliver wasn’t going to last long, not with Simon’s hands still bound and the red marks still visible from his crop. Not with him moving his hips trying to meet his every thrust.

“My brat,” he managed to say through gritted teeth. “This is what you needed. A reminder of who’s master here.”

He drove in one last time, deep, crying out as his own pleasure crested. He heard Simon grunt his name and then, to Oliver’s surprise, the boy came again. The wonders of youth. He took a moment to catch his breath, and hauled himself off the young man, flopping down on the bed next to him. Simon started wriggling over and Oliver thought it was to encourage him to free his hands, but no; it was to kiss him. Oliver had never had a partner so affectionate after the act, and he found he had been missing out, all these years. Simon’s smiling mouth was hot, and Oliver kissed it thoroughly, before untying him. 

“Well, thank god we already went riding,” Simon said, rubbing his wrists and trying to peer around to his backside to see how bad the damage was, and Oliver laughed. 

“Yes, we might have to leave it a few days before you show me any more secluded corners of the estate,” he said. “However will we fill the time?”


End file.
